Armageddon WH40K
by Mattwho81
Summary: A compliation of short stories regarding the first war for armageddon, WH40K. Any changes made are strictly for the purpose of creating a single narrative, all credit goes to Games Workshop.


**The first war for Armageddon**

_Though many in the Imperium are aware of the second and third wars for Armageddon, only a select few have any knowledge of the first. All official records of the event were expunged from Imperial files by an Administratum desperate to contain the truth. That humanity faces threats more dire than the average Imperial citizen could possibly comprehend. Such knowledge, it is feared, would surely cast the superstitious and paranoid worlds of the Imperium into anarchy and ruin. Such information that can be recovered concerning the events of the first war is only to be found in the dustiest corners of the crumbling archives and data vaults of the Adeptus Administratum and to possess such knowledge is to invite the retribution of Ordo Malleus._

**Armageddon**

Armageddon lies some 10,000 light years to the galactic northeast of Terra, in the regions bordering the Segmentum Solar and the Segmentum Obscurus. Classified a hive world by the Administratum and subject to the highest tithe grades. Armageddon is in the industrial hub of not only the sub-sector, but also the entire region. Worlds for light-years around rely upon the industrial output of the immense hive cities and few worlds in the galaxy can compete with it in terms of the sheer magnitude of goods produced.

The cost of millennia of industry is a world reduced to a barren waste, where few can prosper outside the massive hive cities. So ravaged by over-mining and pollution is the surface of Armageddon that no food can be produced and clean air is a valued commodity. The industrial cartels import a staggering quantity of foodstuffs each year, and the noble families reap the profits of their exploitation of millions of workers. Under this regime many muttered of liberation, of challenging the status quo and finding justice for the countless souls bound to gargantuan industrial machine. Demagogues whispered words of dissent and soon agent provocateurs called openly for revolution. Civil unrest became rife and the planetary defence force was forced to violently suppress its own people with alarming frequency.

An Administratum census of the day records that this was the state of Armageddon at the middle of the third century of the 41st Millennium; a world in the throes of insurrection and disorder, ripe for the attentions of the Ruinous powers.

**Darkness Gathers**

The _Bellum Chaotica_, penned in the century following the war by the anonymous, 'Heretic Archivist of the Gethsemane Reclusium' states that in 499.M41, the Daemon Prince Angron raised a mighty horde of mutants, daemonhosts and renegades. Surrounded by a host of summoned daemons and attended by his Chosen World Eaters berserkers Angron and his army vomited forth from the Eye of Terror. Taking advantage of one of the massive, drifting, conglomerates of vessels, known as space hulks, Angron and his unholy army closed on Armageddon.

**Chaos Attack**

The hulk emerged from the warp in the furthest reaches of the Armageddon system and was immediately detected by the outmost monitoring stations. As it drifted through the outer regions, system defence craft were scrambled from the St Jowen's dock naval facility and made contact with the hulk as it passed the world of Pelucidar on the fifth day its arrival.

The ship's crews saw their doom as they closed with the gargantuan space hulk, but nevertheless attempted to stall its approach and buy the defenders on Armageddon more time. Thousands died in the battle with the hulk but the attack was not in vain for it blasted free the drive unit of a key vessel in the hulk's composition. Thousands of Angron's troops were incinerated in the plasma fire as the drive spun away, caught by the gravity of nearby Pelucidar.

The drive unit broke up in the atmosphere, shedding a hideous cocktail of fuels and Warp spawned toxins. Pelucidar was seeded with toxic death and only the hardy subterranean jungles of the cavern-world survived the initial pollution. The inhabitants perished within a year, their minds destroyed by the taint of the warp, their bodies poisoned by the radioactive waste and Pelucidar remains quarantined to this day.

Without the ancient drive section, Angron's servants evidently struggled to influence the course of the vast hulk, and its arrival at Armageddon was delayed by at least a month. The sacrifice of the system defence crews and the people of Pelucidar had bought the forces of Armageddon valuable time to prepare for the invasion.

+++Angron+++

_Ten thousand years ago at the very birth of the Imperium the War master Horus, greatest and most trusted Primarch led the terrible rebellion known as the Horus Heresy. Angron was the first Primarch to join Horus, believing his martial virtue was the only way to save mankind. The World Eaters had always been the most warlike and savage of the Legions, and Angron enthusiastically led them to the worship of Khorne._

_Khorne appealed to Angron's bloodlust and yearning for the release of combat and when the Heresy failed he battled across the galaxy to reach the Eye of Terror. Twisted and horribly mutated over the millennia since, Angron is now a Daemon prince of surpassing potency rivalling the Chaos Gods themselves. He continue to serve his ravenous master, smiting his foes with a mighty blade of glowing iron, within which he has bound the essence of a defeated rival Daemon. Angron lives now only to bring doom and destruction in the name of Khorne!_

**Chaos Ascendant**

Despite the sacrifice of the Imperial Navy, the space hulk quickly overcame Armageddon's orbital defence and Angron's forces began landing. With the hulk's arrival, treachery reared its ugly head within the hives of Armageddon and the seditious elements of the populace were revealed. The recently recovered memoirs of Lord General Gustav Karlson II records that nearly half the population rose up and turned upon their neighbours. Karlson, chief of staff for the continent of Armageddon Secondus, reacted with swift and unforgiving efficiency. He released the planetary defence force against the populace with orders to eliminate anybody who resisted, any and all collateral damages were deemed 'acceptable'. Order was quickly restored on Armageddon Secondus; unfortunately his counter-part on Armageddon Prime balked at such a merciless solution and the continent fell into civil war. When Angron's troops landed they swept all before them, overrunning the burning Hive cities and slaughtering everything they met. The rebel forces were to learn the depth of their mistake as rampaging cultists threw themselves at anything that moved regardless of allegiance. As the death toll on Armageddon Prime spiralled beyond comprehension, Traitor Marines swept through the streets massacring everyone, friend or foe, Daemons stalked the factory and hab districts and mutants vented their fury upon the innocent civilians.

The military order upon Armageddon Prime quickly collapsed and in desperation all surviving forces were ordered to fall back and consolidate on Armageddon Secondus. The retreating troops were hounded by Traitor Titans who burned away thousands of men, however loyalist Princeps fought back, launching hit and run raids from the Ash Wastes and drawing the Traitor Titans away. As the last Imperial forces reached the equatorial jungles they left behind them a land ruled by the Daemonic and the insane. Makeshift abattoirs were constructed, and the blood of Angron's victims was offered up to the Blood God. The last units to stagger from the jungles between the two continents reported the lands behind them were littered with bones, and the polluted rivers were choked with bodies.

**Venerations**

According to the Heretic Archivist, Warp storms of terrifying magnitude surged with power around the Armageddon system at this time and the sheer scale of slaughter lent power to Angron and the daemons of his horde. But such power is fleeting and as the Warp storms began to abate, so too did his power. Unless the daemon Primarch could find some way of establishing a permanent link to the Immaterium to draw the energy necessary to sustain his army, all his plans would be undone.

Unable to continue without the strength of the Warp to empower him, Angron's advance stalled amidst the deepest jungles of the equatorial belt. The daemonic Primarch ordered the construction of a huge monolith through which his armies could draw the power to sustain their existence. The construction of the megalithic structure took many weeks and thousands were sacrificed in its construction. Thousands more were butchered in cruel ceremonies of de-consecration and the jungles withered for miles around as around as the corrupting power of Chaos was drawn into the arcane construction. Diabolical energies flooded the Chaos hordes as the dark power pulsed through the monolith. But the time spent in its construction had delayed Angron's advance by several weeks and the Imperial defenders had received a single ray of hope for the war would take a profound turn with the arrival of a new force: the Space Wolves.

+++Logan Grimnar+++

The saga of Logan Grimnar was but two and half centuries old when he became the Chapter Master of the Space Wolves, the youngest man to ever achieve such glory. The first war for Armageddon would be the first real test of his abilities as Great Wolf and his command during the conflict is counted his finest hour.

_The 'Old Wolf', as he is now known throughout the galaxy is notorious for upholding the interests and rights of his Chapter, harbouring a deep distrust of the Administratum. Those who know of such things point to its actions at the end of the 1st war for Armageddon as the cause of this mistrust, but whatever the truth few will stand against the Old Wolf and none will reject his aid in war. _

_Grimnar is a giant of a figure, tall even for a Space Marine and he carries the weight of his years with great dignity. Now seven hundred years old his fangs have grown long and bestial as they do for every Space Wolf as he ages. Wearing his ancient suit of Terminator armour and wielding the revered Axe of Morkai, Grimnar is one of the most feared warriors, and most respected leaders in the Imperium. _

**Imperial counter-attack**

Angron's horde erupted from the equatorial jungles and surged south, the bulk of his army seeking to engage the defenders holding the line at the river Styx. But the defenders had used the time afforded by Angron's delay wisely. The invaders found themselves facing well dug-in troops, reinforced by the recently arrived Space Wolves who had answered Armageddon's cry for help from their nearby home world of Fenris.

Ill prepared for such a stalwart defence, the Chaos horde broke against the impregnable defence lines and wave after wave was repulsed. It is said that at the battles' conclusion, the mighty Styx was choked with the mutilated bodies of mutants and traitors. But the war for Armageddon was far from over, to the west Angron himself led the attack towards Infernus and Helsreach hives smashing the defenders aside as he did so. Entire companies of Angron's World Eater berserkers rampaged through the redoubts and trench lines defending the approach to the hives. Angron readied his forces for the final assault through the lines.

Logan Grimnar, the commander of the Space Wolves had one last force to commit. Though new to his post as Chapter Master, Grimnar was far from inexperienced in combating the servants of Chaos. Upon his arrival on Armageddon, had immediately requested the aid of the Ordo Malleus. Given the scale of Angron's invasion an entire company of Grey Knight terminators was assembled, a formation only ever committed to battle under the most desperate of circumstances.

The account of the battle itself is sealed within the unbreakable vaults of the Ordo Malleus but it known that the Grey Knights teleported directly into the midst of Angron's horde. It is said that a dozen bloodthirsters attended the Daemon Primarch; forming a bodyguard no mortal could hope to defeat…

+++Brother Captain Aurellian+++

Aurellian was destined for greatness from an early age, born with astonishing psychic powers he would be a great prize for whoever recruited him first. It is said the Mortifactors Chapter first sought him out, but he was destined for greater things. Even as the Mortifactors prepared him to be returned to their sepulchral fortress, their chaplains were challenged by mysterious figures in silver armour. The might of these strangers was incredible and they easily bested the Space Marines, and then vanished as swiftly as they had appeared. Aurellian was taken to Jupiter, foremost base of the Inquisition, and sent to the moon of Titan to be trained as a Grey Knight. The Grey Knights are the chamber militant of the Ordo Malleus, that shadowy branch of the Inquisition which exists for one purpose; to combat the Daemonic, and the potency of these warriors surpasses even the might of the Space Marines.

Aurellian quickly completed his training, fighting alongside the legendary brother Captain Pelega during the Godjera incursion and distinguished himself by banishing the Daemon Prince Kuroniak. On Prioran IV Aurellian was elevated to the rank of Justicar after slaying the Warp Seer of Argento, who prophesised his death. Centuries of devoted service followed as Aurellian banished many daemons and saved uncounted lives as he smote the followers of the Ruinious powers. Aurellian eventually rose to become a Brother-Captain, and was entrusted with the defence of Segmentum solar. Thus when a desperate plea for aid came from Logan Grimnar on Armageddon, Aurellian was swift to respond. Departing on the fastest ship the Adeptus Meachanicus could provide, the Seer's final words echoed in Aurellian's mind, "On the world named for the end of days, you shall face the Warrior Son of he you obey, and great will be the lamentation, for death will be your gift to the galaxy."

**Sacrifices**

The horizon burned the colour of blood, as though the sky itself was on fire. The jungles of Armageddon were ablaze turning the darkness of the night into hateful orange-lit day. Logan Grimnar, breathed deeply, his enhanced senses tasting toxins in the air, and ran an armoured hand through his mane of unkempt blonde hair. He stared at the crater-marked hell that stretched out from out from the front line. The stench of rotting corpses mingled with the reek of burning fuel and his eyes stung from the noxious black smoke coiling lazily upwards from burning vehicles the enemy had lost in the fighting.

"Too few", he whispered, "Too few"

His practised eye surveyed the barren expanse of the Ash wastes on the far bank of river Styx, easily picking out the hated icons of the blood god swaying in the cold northern wind amidst the enemy camp. Bodies floated in the river, so many a man might cross without wetting his feet, their eyeless skulls turned up to face the fire lit sky.

He marched along the length of the defensive wall, his dented and scored Terminator armour groaning as the damaged fibre-bundle muscles in the left thigh fought to match his pace. A careless parry had allowed a Daemon's axe to bite a hand's breadth into his armour. It was only one of a dozen wounds he had suffered in this campaign thus far, but the armour had suffered greatly and though the artificers had done their best there was not the time for the repairs it deserved. He only hoped the prayers and blessing he had performed would placate the armour's spirit so it would not fail him at a crucial moment. Grimnar stopped at an embrasure in the parapet and gripped the edges of the wall. The parapet was nearly twenty metres high and sturdily constructed by the men and women of the Departmento Munitorum engineers' corp. Not nearly as strong or as high as he would have liked, but he knew they were lucky to have it at all. The Daemon Primarch's inexplicable delay in crossing the equatorial jungles had given them the time they so desperately needed to regroup and reorganise the demoralised Imperial forces.

In the distance a hundred kilometres to the east, Grimnar could make out the smoke-wreathed spire of Hive Infernus. The teeming, stinking, man-made mountain called home by 120 million people, people he was sworn to defend, but didn't know if he could. He shrugged off such defeatist thoughts and turned as he heard a calm voice behind him say, "Lord Grimnar"

"Brother Captain Aurellian", nodded Grimnar to the new arrival. Like him Aurellian was clad in terminator armour, its gleaming blue-steel plates a sharp contrast to his Space Wolves grey. The Grey Knight carried a long wide-bladed pole arm, its edge silver and filled with intricate script work, too small even for the enhanced eyesight of a Space Marine to read. Engraved purity seals and devotional litanies fluttered from the shaft and every surface of his pristine armour was decorated with heraldic iconography and craved idioms. When Grimnar looked upon Aurellian he saw not a soldier of the Emperor, but instead a figure straight from the most ancient sagas, like one of the heroes of old, when the Imperium was still young and the Primarchs walked amongst the stars. And yet whenever the Grey Knight was near Grimnar felt the wolf-spirit bound to his soul stir and his hackles would rise as they always did when in the presence of foul sorceries. Grimnar had met many Psykers in his long life, indeed the Rune Priests of his own Chapter were all fell handed mystics, but he instinctively knew that next to Aurellian they were as callow youths.

Grimnar felt a stab of anger towards the Grey Knight, his weapon was unblooded and though he and his warriors had arrived the night before last they had immersed themselves in prayer instead of joining the desperate fighting on the walls.

"When the Adepts of the Cult Mechanicus have completed their preparations, we shall take the fight to the fallen one", said Aurellian.

"And how long will that be?" snapped Grimnar, "Our people are dying here, brother Aurellian. We do not have time to indulge every whim of your pet tech-priests."

"I do not know", shrugged Aurellian ignoring Grimnar's aggressive tone. "It will be for them to say when they are ready."

The young chapter Master of the Space Wolves bunched his fists and snarled, "Every second the Tech priests spend chanting doggerel and waving stinking censers over their technological witchery costs lives! Don't you understand that? We need to take the fight to the enemy now!"

"I understand all too well lord Grimnar", replied Aurellian smoothly, "But it will avail us nothing if we attack before we are fully prepared. How many more lives will be lost if we fail because we acted in haste?"

Grimnar felt his anger ebb as the sense of the Grey Knight's words penetrated the haze of his anger and frustration. Thus far they had been spared the full horror of the Daemon Primarch's attack, but the defeats his army had suffered on the banks of the Styx would surely gain his attention soon. And the Emperor help them all when that happened.

"Do what you must then, but be ready to attack when the beast comes at us"

"You are sure he will attack here?"

Grimnar nodded slowly as he looked along the length of the wall and trench line before it, seeing the bone-weary troopers who manned its firing step and guns. They wore defeat and exhaustion like a shroud.

His reply was simple, "I would"

Dirt and hard-packed earth rained down from the latest impacts of high-explosive shells as Sergeant Kohler pressed his hands against his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. He kept his mouth open to avoid the pressure wave bursting his eardrums as he'd been taught and prayed for this nightmare to end. The ground heaved with shell impacts and the air burned with acrid propellant fumes. He smelt blood and the stench of voided bowels and bladders and gagged, pressing his back against the earth of his squad's dugout in the trench line. Men ran insane with terror, strobing silhouettes against the bright flare of explosions before being snatched away in storms of fire and steel. Kohler spat dirt and blood.

He reached down and gripped his lasgun tightly, knuckles white. Kohler held the weapon close, clutching it to his muddy flak vest like a protective talisman. And it took him long seconds to realise that the shelling had stopped. As the ringing in his ears faded, screams and desperate cries for medic replaced the shriek of incoming artillery. The sudden absence of noise was as surprising as the fact that he was still alive. The momentary elation at his survival faded as he remembered that the only reason it would stop would be an imminent attack. Sergeant Kohler surged to his feet shouting, "Everybody up! Get up! Get up! They're coming again!"

Dazed and terrified soldiers reluctantly rose from their dugouts, their eyes haunted by the carnage and horrors they had seen in this war. Things so terrible that many would never sleep again, even were they to live through this nightmare. Kohler chivvied his squad members onto the trench's firing step, yelling encouragement at anyone who passed by. Mangled bodies and severed limbs littered the iron duckboards of the trench and foot-deep holes were filled with blood. Kohler slung his lasgun and pressed his face to the trench periscope, extending its vision port over the lip of their defence. Rolling banks of grey-flecked smoke filled the viewer, jerked and snatched by gunfire. He could hear a swelling roar of hatred and a rumbling vibration through the ground. Chunks of earth and dust rattled around him, falling from the lip of the trench as something immense drew closer. Then the smoke parted and Kohler felt his knees sag as he saw Angron's horde in horrifying clarity.

Blood red daemons, with thick manes of gore-streaked fur, loped alongside men in tattered and bloody uniforms. The soldier's bodies were twisted by mutations and crude symbols had been painted over their insignia but it was clear that they had once been Imperial Guardsmen. Men they would have called brother not so long ago. A gargantuan, clanking machine preceded them, brass and crimson and adorned with skulls. Huge, spiked wheels-each larger than a battle tank- churned the ground and crushed all before it. On it's back, a huge, black cauldron belched choking red smoke, and the hissing of white hot metal and a huge bow wave of infernal heat preceding the war engines advance.

Kohler turned to his soldiers and shouted, "All guns open fire! Fire at will"

The Imperial line erupted in a storm of las-bolts and heavy weapon blasts and the front of the Chaos horde was instantly scythed down. Volley after volley hammered the Chaos troops, but Kohler could see that it wouldn't matter, there were simply too many to kill. The war machine loomed as large as a hive spire, the deafening, hissing of the thing it carried on its back overshadowing all but the loudest weapons. Kohler ducked down below the lip of the trench, ejecting a spent power cartridge from his lasgun and fumbling for another. He heard what sounded like a huge, sucking breath followed by a roaring like the howl of some ancient monster. The top of the trench disintegrated, turning molten under the fire of the war-engine. Magma-hot daemonic Daemonic ichors spewed from the hissing cauldron, destroying everything in its path. Scores of bodies fell into the trench, their upper halves burned away and the remains of their uniforms ablaze. Burned human meat and sizzling fat filled Kohler's nostrils and he dropped to his knees, retching at its foul stench.

As he gagged on the ashen remains of his fellow soldiers, he heard a thunderous detonation as the war engine activated the buried mines placed in there hundreds before the trenches. Secondary explosions within the stricken war machine hurled burning liquid all across the battlefield, splashing down in molten sheets. The earth rocked as it toppled, slamming into the ground with teeth-loosening force. Kohler fell into a pool of steaming blood. Screams and screeches of agony filled the air and Kohler felt hatred like he had never known flood his heart. He rose to his feet and shouldered his lasgun, pumping shot after shot into the reeling Chaos forces. The minefield had halted them in their tracks and survivors milled in shell-shocked confusion at its edge. Scores fell to the fire of the Imperial Guard and Kohler laughed in hysterical release. They could do it, they could win this battle!

But then the sky darkened and roiling black clouds, shot through with blood red lightning, billowed over the lines. The Chaos horde let out a bellowing roar that froze the marrow in the bones of the Imperial officers, as a gigantic red shape fell from above. The beat of powerful wings parted the clouds and Kohler had a barely perceived vision of a vast red figure crashing down to earth with an ear-splitting boom. The creature landed heavily, thrusting out its powerful arms wide as it roared its challenge. It carried a broad-bladed sword of dark iron, unnatural sigils blazing with unholy light, and the air around it crumpled and wept as if the very fabric of space was being raped by this vile penetration. Kohler sobbed as the enormous creature strode into the minefield, joined by a group of hulking monsters formed from the essence of humanities' darkest nightmares. Armoured in brass and covered in filthy, blood-matted fur they carried pulsing, red axes and lashing, barbed whips. The very presence of these abominations drove men mad; some ran screaming at the sight, others sat giggling and drooling as their sanity fled. A few even put their own guns in their mouths and calmly pulled the triggers rather than live in a world that could contain such horror. Kohler dropped his lasgun and wept in terror, he curled into a foetal position, calling out for his mother as he messed his uniform.

Kohler screamed as he suddenly felt tongues of lightning lash his body, jerking spasmodically as the fire scorched his flesh. But somehow he knew this was not the work of Chaos, this was something else. He rolled onto his back, feeling his hair burn and tried to make sense of what he saw before him. Flickering arcs of blue energy leapt and danced above the glassy slag of the trench top, making the air taste electric. Then he saw a tiny point of pure white light form in midair, it hung there for the briefest of moments then surged outwards to define a massive ball of blazing light. Suddenly with a crack of displaced air the light vanished and in its place stood perhaps a hundred warriors in suits of burnished silver, each carrying a wide bladed pole-arm festooned with purity seals.

Brother Captain Aurellian blinked rapidly, feeling the knot of tension in his gut relax as his body adjusted after the mass teleportation of his Grey Knights. He stood tall upon the lip of a snaking trench, filled with weeping, and sobbing Guardsmen. Ahead he could see the smoking remains of a smashed Daemon engine and the explosion wreathed battlefield. And there, barely visible in the thick haze, came Angron, thrice accursed and blasphemous Daemon Primarch of the World Eaters. The fallen one was surrounded by a dozen greater Daemons, each the match of an entire army and the butcher of billions. Aurellian gripped his Nemesis force halberd tightly and ordered his mere hundred men forward. But the Grey Knights knew no fear, for they knew that Emperor was with them always and the darkness of Chaos could not stand before his holy light.

Aurellian marched forwards, the Grey Knights following in disciplined groups, stepping over the bodies of the sobbing guardsmen, their Nemesis weapons held before them. Waves of psychic bloodlust broke against them, causing the whimpering troops to scream in terror, but the souls of the Grey Knights had been forged to resist such petty evils and not a man among them faltered in his stride. A slavering Bloodthirster leapt into the smoky air, its black wings carrying it across the battlefield in a heartbeat. It slammed into the ground before Aurellian, causing a dozen guardsmen to spontaneously combust, their very flesh protesting at the presence of such an abomination. It opened its fanged maw and from within came a wave of thick, black, oily flames that engulfed the Brother Captain in infernal heat. But Aurellian remained calm; his armour had been thrice blessed and ritually consecrated by the most pious holy men in the Imperium, rendering him immune to such corruption. The Grey Knight fearlessly pushed forwards into the hellish flames, steadfastly chanting the words to the holy Rites of Exorcism. The Daemon blinked and reared back as the shining form of Aurellian emerged from its inferno and its hesitation cost it dearly. Aurellian strode forwards and with one psychically charged blow beheaded the Bloodthirster, banishing its essence back into the Warp for a thousand years.

The Grey Knights caught up with their brother Captain as the Daemon's form began to evaporate like black smoke. On any other battlefield such a triumph would have heralded the collapse of the Chaos horde but the Grey Knights knew that the real fight had not even begun. Suddenly the smoke parted, as if drawn aside by an invisible hand, and the Grey Knights had their first real look at Angron. His massive form stood over twelve feet high, his skin splitting and reforming as dirty orange flames spurted from the cracks. The Daemon Primarch's bestial face rippled and reformed at will and yet underneath that was a faint echo of a human face, screaming in horror at the betrayal wrought upon it_. _

"_The Knights of the corpse god", _rasped the Daemon Primarch in recognition, the voice rumbling like a slow moving avalanche_. "I shall enjoy feeding you your entrails"._

Aurellian did not reply. He had no wish to speak with a Daemon; its words were all falsehood and its very presence hateful to him.

Thousands of throats gave voice to a roar of bloodlust as Angron sent his Bloodthirsters stomping forwards, mines detonating harmlessly against their infernal armour. Through the thunder of explosions, the Daemons crashed into the thin Grey Knight line, axes flashing and whips snapping. Aurellian saw one of his brothers' cut down instantly, shorn in two by shrieking Daemonic weapons. He tore his gaze away from the battle around him as a raging Bloodthirster charged him and his squad. He widened his stance and braced his weapon on the ground shouting, "_Grey Knights, Hold!"_ as the Bloodthirster crashed into them. Its black whip lashed out and cut through a Terminator, cleaving him from collarbone to pelvis. Aurellian lunged, jabbing his blade at the monsters' head, but its brass axe parried the blow and a hoof thundered into his breastplate. Even the sacred protection of Terminator armour could not stand before such force and Aurellian winced as he felt his ceramic laced bones break. He staggered back; fighting for breath as his internal bio-med sensors told him his right lung had collapsed. Such a blow would cripple a normal man, but Space Marines are designed to take such damage and Aurellian's third lung immediately cut in. The Daemon loomed over him, raising its brass axe high for the killing stroke and Aurellian knew he had seconds left to live. Suddenly the brother Captain reversed his retreat; stepping within the swing of the Daemons' arm he caused it to miss him by a less than an inch. The axe thundered into the ground behind him, leaving the Bloodthirster's guard momentarily open and as fast as thought Aurellian rammed his Nemesis weapon into its gut. The Daemon froze for an instant as it looked down in shocked disbelief at the damage this puny mortal had inflicted. Taking advantage of its distraction, two of his brothers stepped up the sides of the Daemon and with swift strong blows dismembered the vile beast.

Gasping for air Aurellian spared a tenth of second to access the situation, his enhanced mind processing the data with lightning speed. In a few brief seconds the Bloodthirsters had done tremendous damage; only a quarter of his brothers were still standing. But their deaths had not been in vain, for they had already taken down a dozen Bloodthirsters and even as Aurellian watched the last of them was torn apart. A tremendous victory, one that would be sung of for a thousand years, but not one without cost. Everywhere he looked were the mutilated bodies of his fellows surrounded by screeching shadows as the Daemons' essences were dragged back into the Warp.

That left only Angron, towering over the survivors, a look of amusement on his face and chuckling as he surveyed the carnage before him. Between the Grey Knights and the Daemon Primarch was nothing but a blasted wasteland and behind Angron were the endless ranks of his gathered horde. Facing certain death Aurellian decided to take the initiative, advancing towards the Primarch, his injuries barely slowing himdown.The Grey Knights closed upon their leader, forming an impenetrable shield wall around him as they strode towards the Fallen one. The Daemon Primarch saw his foe approach and reared up to his full height, bellowing a furious challenge. Lesser mortals might quail before this monster, but the Grey Knights had been steeled to face the worst horrors of Chaos without flinching. Only two dozen of them survived but they were almost there, and they marched resolutely as they finally came face to face with Angron.

Time slowed and the world held its breath as man and monster faced one another. One a devoted and loyal servant of mankind, the other a base traitor who had spat upon his oaths of loyalty and embraced ultimate evil.

"_You can not win Aurellian", _hissed Angron, waving his black sword through the air overhead_. _

Aurellian spun his Nemesis halberd, assuming a relaxed stance and pointed the blade at the Daemon Primarch's heart._ "You underestimate me, traitor"._

"_Perhaps, but I was one of my father's Chosen and in ten thousand years I have never been bested. You know this Aurellian; I can see it plain as day. Why not join the winning side? You could know real power and command legions. Why should you fight and die for a rotted corpse on a planet you have never even seen?"_

"_Because I must", _said Aurellian simply, thrusting his weapon towards Angron_. _

The Daemon Primarch laughed and batted away the force weapon with his own sword, while his a burning whip of fire sprang from his other hand. The tongues of fire snaked forwards at waist height and cut through half a dozen terminators like a scythe through a wheat field. The Grey Knights piled in, hammering at the Daemon with their most potent blows, but Angron merely bellowed with laughter and cleaved another brother head to toe. Aurellian ducked a blow that would have taken off his head and stepped inside Angron's guard, slashing his halberd across his foes' flank, drawing a bellow of pain and a wash of hot, black blood.

Angron smashed a club like fist down on the captain's shoulder, driving him to the ground and breaking scores of his bones. Lights exploded before Aurellian's eyes and darkness threatened to overwhelm him but with the speed born from centuries of battle he still managed to roll aside even as Angron's sword cleaved the ground where he had been laying a heartbeat ago. The brother Captain rolled to his feet and slashed the end of his halberd across the pinned arm of the Daemon. Angron hissed in fury and bisected another Grey Knight with his whip even as he took a half step back and pulled his sword up and out from the ground. Aurellian saw the blow coming and managed to get his halberd down to block the strike but the hell blade smashed through the sacred haft and ripped Aurellian's arm off in a shower of sparks and blood_._

The Grey Knight stumbled back, his mind engulfed with agony, as he fought to remain conscious. His suit was leaking fluids and blood poured from wounds too extensive even for his engineered Larraman cells to seal. The torment was excruciating, more than any normal blade could inflict, but pain was less than nothing to a Space Marine and he pushed the anguish to the back of his mind. Aurellian quickly regained his balance and ordered his armour to spray coagulants over the stump of his arm. He could see his men were fighting bravely but Angron had killed another pair of his brothers in the brief time it had taken for him to re-enter the battle. He leapt back into the fray knowing that they would soon all be dead; that they might die was unimportant, but they must not fail in their duty.

"_Brothers! Defensive circle!" _shouted Aurellian, though it sent hot spikes of pain through his chest. The surviving Grey Knights formed a circle about their wounded leader and prepared to die fighting, but Aurellian was not planning to fall this way; not while he still had one weapon left to use. He focussed all his hatred of the Fallen One until it was an incandescent power that burned within him and threatened to consume his flesh. His battle-brothers felt the power building and understanding the finality of such powerful psychic energy linked their minds to his and fed him their power too. This was the most potent weapon the Grey Knights possessed, a gestalt fury, the holy fire of their combined minds… the Holocaust_._

Angron roared, clearly sensing the build-up of their power, but either did not care or, in his arrogance, believed himself too powerful to be harmed by it. He lashed out at Aurellian with his sword but one of his brothers stepped forwards and took the deathblow meant for him. Angron hissed in frustration and raised his dark blade high once more, but it was too late for Aurellian had unleashed the Holocaust. The smoky, oily air was suddenly ablaze with a burning corona of energy and a wave of pure white fire leapt forth from Aurellian, engulfing the Daemon Primarch. Aurellian swelled as the power of his fellows surged through him and he screamed as the raging energies wracked his shattered body. Incandescent fury flowed through Aurellian and the Grey Knight next to him fell, his body nothing more than a shrivelled husk of bones within his armour. He felt the life energies of two more of his brothers wither away under the strain, but even as they died they threw the last dregs of their power into the Holocaust, determined to see the Daemon's end. The hordes of Chaos fell back before burning light, those too slow to retreat were consumed by the oncoming tidal wave of psychic force.

Angron roared in torment and Aurellian saw the furnace glow of his body diminish. The Daemon Primarch dropped to his knees; thick blood drooling from his slack features and the edges of his silhouette grew blurred and indistinct. As Aurellian watched, the Daemon Primarch's form grew less solid, less real, as though his hold on the material realm was slipping. But then Angron remembered his nature for he was a Primarch, forged by the Emperor himself, designed first, last and always to survive. Even as Aurellian realised this, the Daemon flesh began to re-knit, as his sheer will held his form solid. The remaining Grey Knights fell to their knees, drained and exhausted by the feats they had performed, but Aurellian knew he would never get another chance at this and lurched forwards. Every muscle and sinew in his body cried out in pain but he overrode them and forced himself to take one agonising step after another, still gripping his Nemesis blade by its splintered haft like a sword. Angron lifted his bestial head in time to see the Grey Knight lash out with his remaining arm and drive the blade deep within the Daemon's chest. Fat red sparks flew as the blade plunged into the Daemon's body and his roar of pain split the earth apart all around him. Aurellian drew upon depths of power he had never dreamed he had and from somewhere found the energy to direct another surge of blazing purity through his blade_. _

He rejoiced as he felt Angron's substance dissolving and knew that he had defeated the monster. He pushed the blade deeper and grunted in sudden pain as he felt Angron's own sword punching into his belly. He coughed blood, spattering the Daemon's features and felt his own killing power ravaging him through Angron's blade.

The Daemon Primarch sneered mockingly. _"If we are to die, we will die together. I will be reborn in the Warp but your soul will be devoured by Daemons for all eternity, and you will know an immortality of agony…"_

"_So be it!"_ Whispered Aurellian and he threw his own lifeforce into the struggle one last time.

In the last second of his life Aurellian knew only relief; he had not failed his Emperor. Then the world faded and he knew nothing but a pure, white light.

_Logan Grimnar watched the ten Grey Knights kneel in prayer around the fallen body of their brother Captain and bowed his head in respect. The battlefield was eerily quiet, the Daemons having vanished like morning mist upon the banishment of Angron's form and traitors, cultists and mutants falling back in disarray. A shaft of golden sunlight broke through the oppressive cloud layer and Grimnar felt a sudden surge of optimism as he watched his Space Wolves mount up in their Rhino transports to begin the pursuit and destruction of the enemy. Mud and blood caked Guardsmen began clambering dazedly from their trenches, their faces bearing testament to horrors no man should ever be asked to face. A soldier, drenched in mud and excrement, staggered from the trench and dropped weeping to his knees, "They won" he sobbed in relief, "I can't believe they did it"._

_Grimnar looked down at the man, seeing his sergeant stripes through the blood on his upper arm. The name Kohler was stitched above it._

"_Aye", he said slowly. "They destroyed the Beast. But at what cost?" _

_The sergeant looked up, uncomprehending at the Chapter Master of the Space Wolves continued. "A noble warrior of the Emperor fell this day, Sergeant Kohler and you will never see a greater display of heroism", said Grimnar. "Remember what you have seen here today"_

"_I will", nodded Kohler, but Logan Grimnar had already turned and marched away._

**Victory!**

With their leader dead, the Chaos hordes fell into disorder. The remnants of the force repulsed at the River Chaeron retreated completely as they were counter attacked by the Space Wolves. Pursued across the Ash Wastes by the combined forces of the Imperium thousands of traitors, cultists and mutants were cut down without mercy. Bereft of their Daemonic allies, those invaders who did not fall as they crossed the polluted wastes were overtaken at the Minos Bridge. No quarter was offered and their bodies were burned in a vast pyre that was visible for a hundred miles in every direction. The remains of the invaders drifted west, to fall within the putrid marches at the river delta and this region remains corrupt and shunned to this day.

The Imperium had prevailed, though virtually Armageddon's entire industrial infrastructure had been destroyed by insurgents and hidden cultists. Though Angron's forces had been destroyed, and his physical form banished from our reality for a thousand years, his monolith still stood. To this day it remains a beacon for evil, turning the equatorial jungles into an impassable labyrinth of deadly perils.

**Final Betrayal**

With Angron and his hordes defeated, the Administratum ruthlessly suppressed all information regarding the invasion. To allow the truth of what had occurred on Armageddon to be discovered would be to confirm the very worst fears of the superstitious peoples of the Imperium. Better that they be kept in ignorance, the adepts reasoned, than be forced to face the realisation that mankind faced such diabolical threats. The purge of records began and every text, scroll and document recorded during the war was burned and replaced by far more convenient truths.

But far worse than this was the realisation of just how far the corruption of Chaos had spread even before Angron made planet fall. Armageddon Prime had fallen to treachery at every level of society, and Armageddon Secondus saved only by the most merciless purge. Weeding out the hidden traitors would take decades of ruthless vigilance and continuous sabotage would certainly cripple Imperial efforts to re-establish Armageddon's industry. Any other world would have been put to death by the Exterminatus without hesitation, but Armageddon was far too important to sacrifice in this way.

Instead, the Administratum and the Inquisition put a plan into motion that would eliminate the traitors and rebuild the industries simultaneously. Every adult man and woman on the planet was rounded up by troops, sterilised and relocated to forced labour camps situated in the most inhospitable regions of the planet. Millions would spend the rest of their pitiful lives slaving to eke out the resources needed to rebuild their world. The children were shipped off world to Imperial orphanages across the sector to be trained as recruits for the various Imperial orders. The only exceptions were the wealthiest families who owned the industries required to rebuild Armageddon. With the Hive cities all but empty the Administratum relocated millions of workers from far away worlds to replace those who had been betrayed by those figures meant to protect them.

Only one man dared protest against this ultimate sanction, this most craven of betrayals. Logan Grimnar, Chapter Master of the Space Wolves, made his opposition plain and, privately, many agreed with him. Unfortunately no other man had the courage to oppose the monolithic organisations of the Imperium so Grimnar's protests were ignored. Though he could not sway the faceless adepts of the Administratum, he has never forgiven them, nor has he let be…


End file.
